Daisy and Daffodil
by Krimz
Summary: Daisy wondered when her concerns had switched from wanting to impress Dr. Brennan for these three hundred and sixty five days to wanting to learn how to comfort Dr. Brennan when she got homesick, lovesick… Boothsick. A collection of one-shots.
1. Postcards

**Hello, Bones folk! I had started this before I knew if it was official that Brennan was going to Maluku with Daisy; now that it's confirmed, I plan for this to be a small collection of one-shots having to do with their adventures in Indonesia and how two very different people can mutually benefit from each other. Most of it will be a sort of how-can-Daisy-play-a-role-in-Brennan-figuring-things-out deal, so forgive me if most of the time Daisy is more of a vehicle for Brennan exploration than anything else. If my first Bones piece didn't show it, I very much enjoy taking outside characters' perspectives to further explore Brennan**. **Thanks for checking this out!**

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**Daisy and Daffodil: Postcards**

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Daisy Wick wondered why palm trees were so iconic. They only grow in warm climates, she knew, so they were indicators of warm weather and people like warm weather… but aesthetically? Not too much there. In fact, they were a little spindly and scraggly and sometimes grew at extremely awkward angles due to the forces of the sea breeze on the coast. And here in Indonesia, palm trees weren't always as full as the postcards at the hotel gift shop depicted them, which is why she did not send Lance a postcard of palm trees but instead of a busy Indonesian city street at sunrise. And unlike the palm tree postcard, the city street one did not say "wish you were here," a thought that Daisy felt could be a little inappropriate given the non-relationship of their relationship. Besides, the shot was rather charming and anthropologically representative of the community. No use sending him an inaccurate representation of the flora, right?

She thought her rationale was scientifically profound and had immediately shared it with Dr. Brennan as she made the purchase, but Dr. Brennan just nodded as she plunked three water bottles on the register counter and nothing else. It was pretty dismissive, actually. Daisy wished she'd just dropped the subject after that… instead of asking Dr. Brennan if Agent Booth would be getting any cheesy Indonesian paraphernalia. Of course, she didn't think that one through and regretted it instantly when she saw her professor's face cloud back over into what Daisy called "professionalism" but what Lance called "her personal stress response state." _Damn_, and she thought after the long but pleasant plane ride during which Dr. Brennan had reviewed and edited her article on parietal fusion, called it outstanding—but better yet, had called _her_ "Daisy"—that she'd finally got a foot in the door just a _teeny_ bit.

But after that postcard incident, it was right back to Miss Wick… but only for a little while.

That had been weeks ago and that was also the only hotel she and Dr. Brennan had stayed in. Their dig was on the edge of sandy nowhere and they'd been housed in a hut-esque structure that looked something like she'd seen at water parks—but these were actually legit. They weren't small but they definitely weren't anything luxurious… at all. Now Daisy felt the urge to defend Dr. Brennan's honor if anyone back home dared to call her rich and self-pampered ever again—the woman was like a boy scout when it came to these expeditions and had no qualms about camping out by the dig site with nothing but a sleeping bag and the knowledge of how to build natural shelter. Daisy tried to keep her mouth free of complaints for the first week but Dr. Brennan was a great teacher, of course, so now she was like an old pro herself at the monk-life thing. It felt good, empowering, and whenever she was particularly resourceful she could practically feel Dr. Brennan smiling at her. Didn't actually see it, of course, but that didn't matter.

There was still a matter of what was and wasn't fair game of discussion besides anything skeleton-related and after a few early slip-ups that resulted in the infamous Dr. Brennan Professionalism, Daisy hadn't risked much. There were safe things and they sufficed. Weather. Stories from the anthropology journal they'd both read. More weather. She learned quickly that the biggest unsafe topic was anything of or relating to Agent Booth.

But the concept of the significance of palm trees—that was harmless, right? Fair game? Because there certainly were a lot of them around the housing site, which was where Daisy sat on a hand-carved rocking chair, booted feet propped up on the wooden porch railing and crossed at the ankles. Dr. Brennan sat next to her in a companionable silence, writing up a report on the tibia they'd unearthed earlier, because the weather—Daisy and Dr. Brennan's hottest topic—currently prevented them from returning to the dig site.

A gust of wind from the storm down the Maluku coast shook the trees in question and when Dr. Brennan glanced up for a second at the rustling, Daisy took her shot.

"Why do you think people like palm trees so much?"

Yep. Felt stupid, sounded stupid, and as expected, Dr. Brennan looked at her like she was stupid. Time to backpedal.

"I'm sorry I—I interrupted you, Dr. Brennan, really, I didn't mean to, it was really random of me and I know we talked about how I should stop doing that. I'll stop. I'm done," Daisy word-vomited while Dr. Brennan just continued to stare at her as if it might make Daisy disappear entirely. "Back to the uh, the tibia write up."

When the burning that was definitely a blush—that may or may not have been visible beneath the ruddy remnants of week-old sunburn on her cheeks—finally died down, Daisy fully expected the silence to continue. For the past few weeks they'd had a lot of that. For the first time Daisy was thankful for it.

But also for the first time, Dr. Brennan did not look back to her paperwork in dismissal. Instead, she looked up at the palm trees.

"I always think of ribcages."

Startled, Daisy pulled her feet from the porch railing. Should she respond? Or would Dr. Brennan continue with her thoughts? It was such a new experience—this whole budding conversation concept—and Daisy had no idea how to proceed.

"I don't know why, because other than the leaves connecting at the stem like a really narrow sternum, there really are no similarities," Dr. Brennan elaborated passively. "They don't even wrap around."

As if the idle conversation—and yes, Daisy thought to herself, that was most definitely a quantifiable conversation when it came to Dr. Brennan—wasn't shocking enough, Dr. Brennan even pulled her eyes away from the trees to look at Daisy with a gentle… smile? It almost felt like an "I'm glad you're here" but that may have just been wishful thinking.

But that smile, as partial as it was, drew all of Daisy's attention to her professor. The constant sun had initially made them both pink but was now painting Dr. Brennan something golden and freckles spackled her nose and cheeks and her hair was streaked with sun-blonde. She looked so youthful that her commanding presence was almost belied. Almost. Whatever the reason for the phenomenon, it was like looking at Dr. Brennan through x-ray glasses and it only made Daisy realize one thing: there was an impetus for this sudden willingness to chat… and she wondered if it had anything to do with Agent Booth.

"Dr. Brennan? Your scout team has a few questions about tomorrow's directives," a man's voice called from inside the quarters.

"Okay, I'll be right in," Dr. Brennan replied and carefully balanced her paperwork on top of the stool she'd vacated. They balanced precariously and then stilled until a gust of wind ruffled them. Daisy, in a small panic, bounced from her rocking chair to catch them before they blew off into the afternoon. She counted her stars that Dr. Brennan kept things numbered and labeled so hopefully, she'd be able to put this pile back together just as she'd found—

"Oh," escaped her mouth as she knelt from the splintery wooden floor, hands on an oft-opened envelope.

An envelope from a Sergeant Major Booth.

Sergeant Major.

Daisy remembered all too clearly her professor's face in that airport when the camo-donned Booth had stepped into the terminal to say goodbye. Thank God that Dr. Saroyan's "oh my God" had kept Daisy's "let's go, Dr. Brennan" firmly in her mouth's mouth. Dr. Brennan's purposeful stride had hitherto only been seen by Daisy when directed toward work urgency—but it was chilling to see that set jaw, those clenched hands, that exuberating need to _get there _when the destination was not the lab platform but was Agent Booth.

That's when it hit her… really, really _hit_ her. Daisy should have _never _said what she had said to Dr. Brennan about the partners holding each other back. She never thought that perhaps "partners" would imply anything but the professional FBI-Jeffersonian link. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Her professor was in _love_.

Suddenly, these two inseparable beings that Daisy had put on a pedestal just became two little humans that had become hopelessly entangled… but were now slicing away at the binds and saying goodbye and it broke Daisy's heart.

And Daisy had let out her own, quieter "oh, God," wondering when her concerns had switched from wanting to impress Dr. Brennan for these three hundred and sixty five days to wanting to learn how to comfort Dr. Brennan when she got homesick, lovesick… Boothsick.

Of course, those concerns faded fast when they arrived in Indonesia. Dr. Brennan didn't outwardly show anything and Daisy quickly found out that long periods of silence punctuated by science-y stuff was how Dr. Brennan did Boothsickness; Boothsickness was the ultimate "leave me alone with these remains, please."

But Boothsickness had abated today… and all because of this little envelope.

Daisy glanced inside the hut structure; by the intensity of discussion she could hear from her post on the patio, she could assume that it would be quite a while before Dr. Brennan came outside. Holding the envelope close to her chest, she maneuvered down the steps and slipped behind a palm tree, her heart in her throat.

The parcel was addressed to "Bones," which didn't surprise Daisy. What did surprise her, though, was that it was not a four-page, handwritten letter written by the passion-shaky hand of doting love and dotted with the tried tear stains of a lovesick anthropologist. Based on Dr. Brennan's excellent mood, Daisy had expected something huge, something touching, something monumental.

What was in the envelope was actually a post card of an Osama bin Laden lookalike in nothing but underwear.

Agent Booth's handwriting was scrawled across the back: "The Middle East is doing wonders for my complexion, don't you think?"

She laughed out loud, unable to muffle the sound. It came out way too loudly. She bit her tongue, panicked... until her laugh was echoed by a soft chuckle that she couldn't exactly place but sounded awfully like…

"Oh God, Dr. Brennan!" Daisy shrieked as she turned around and saw her professor standing right behind her. Dr. Brennan was wearing such an unfamiliar and completely endearing smirk. Daisy braced herself against the trunk of the palm tree and sighed, her heart rate resuming normalcy. "He's uh… he's silly. Here. I'm… I'm sorry," she stuttered, handing back the postcard and looking contrite as a kicked puppy. This was a total breech of her professor's privacy; she was going to be given the silent treatment for weeks, she just _knew_ it—

"This one's relatively tame, compared to the last two," Dr. Brennan said, shocking the hell out of Daisy. Her eyes were not even slightly angry and became bright and slightly unfocused as she unconsciously ran a finger over Agent Booth's handwriting. "…Yeah, he's silly," she agreed in a disarmingly soft voice.

"I'm sorry," Daisy repeated in the awkward silence. She had no idea what to say. Dr. Brennan was throwing her for all kinds of loops and she just didn't want to take a misstep.

"It's fine," Dr. Brennan assured her. "Glad it could amuse you. I have to go prep the excavators. See you at dinner, Daisy."

Daisy never heard a more contented-sounding sigh in her entire life as her professor turned, a little piece of Booth in her hand.


	2. Hunger

**WOW, you guys! Thanks for all of the alerts and great reviews for the first chapter. I'm glad people are willing to be open to Daisy as a POV target because I think her contrast to Brennan is a great development-catalyst for our favorite doctor. ****Let's hope that proves true in season six! Note: I'm not usually lighthearted, so fluff-haters, be aware the angst is eventual!**

**Thanks for reading!**

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**Daisy and Daffodil: Hunger**

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The sun was dunking itself into the horizon like a big, burning cookie—the end of another day left Daisy ravenous, as usual, though it was a specific hunger for home that prompted her to think of cookies in the sun. And Saladworks salads of the trees. Mashed potatoes in the clouds. Comfort food. And that just wasn't on hand out here on the island. Every night was a little different and the difficulty adjusting varied but it was always the simplest things—the food, the housing, the basic human necessities—that triggered her homesickness. She knew there was anthropological significance to that, since human beings had a hierarchy of needs that were primarily survival-driven. It made sense that the food and shelter had the most emotional implications to her.

It still stung a bit, though.

With the sunlight not nearly gone, Dr. Brennan had called the dig day early and the rest of the team had done some meager organizing and then headed back to headquarters. The more delicate specimens were to be dealt with by Daisy and Dr. Brennan, but at the moment, it was only Daisy. As she covered a box containing a humerus and ulna that appeared to belong to the same skeleton with a tarp, she glanced over at her professor.

"Dr. Brennan?" Daisy posed, not for the first time. "You okay? Want some water?"

"No, I'm okay."

About ten minutes ago and after the straggler scientists had made their way offsite with the excavation equipment, Dr. Brennan had snapped her gloves from her hands and what Daisy could only call a growl rumbled from her throat. Daisy knew that Dr. Brennan had forgotten that she was still by her side and the growl was a slip and proudly, Daisy made no reaction. Slowly but surely, Daisy had found her footing around the eggshells of Dr. Brennan and she'd just majorly dodged one large shell shank._ She slips up and is weak sometimes; do not call her out on it if you want her even making eye contact with you for a week. _From her peripheral vision, Daisy saw Dr. Brennan startle—just remembering her intern's presence—and her relief was palpable when she saw Daisy's apparent lack of concern.

"You, ah, you have this under control, Miss Wi—Daisy?" she had said awkwardly, and perhaps Daisy put too much showmanship into her jump and one-eighty turn and drawn-out "huh?"

"The bones. I'm assuming you can handle them solo?" she had reiterated, edging slightly away from Daisy. She glanced toward the sunset. "Take your time, though. We still have light."

"Yeah, Dr. B, we do—so why did you call it so early?"

Daisy had tried to ask it carefully but it was way more probing than she intended.

"It seemed appreciated," was the only response she got before Brennan walked over to an area of shade and plunked to the sand, pretzel legged. For a moment it looked like she was about to bury her face in her hands but she straightened her spine at the last second and a silent, tempered sigh tensed her frame.

Daisy didn't want to push—well, she _sort_ of did, but didn't want the resulting consequences—so she reached for a pen and label and set about separating potential bone fragments, watching Dr. Brennan from the corner of her eye the whole time. For ten minutes. Ten full minutes of silence and ten full minutes of wave after wave of tension rolling off Dr. Brennan's back and all but smacking Daisy in the face. She could barely deal with it—not from she, Dr. Brennan, the normal pinnacle of composition—but Daisy couldn't just pull an Angela and rip the truth out of her boss. She only _wished_ that was the state of their relationship.

"We could get out of here quicker if you stop staring and keep labeling," Dr. Brennan said, her voice puncturing the silence even though it was subdued. "I'd help but I don't think that's advisable at the moment."

Great, an opening! Lance would have called this a diving point. Not that Daisy was trying to be her professor's therapist or anything, but least it wouldn't be non sequitur. To risk or not to risk?

"And why is that, Dr. Brennan? If you don't mind me asking, of course."

She'd decided on risking.

"I find that ancient bones crumble pretty easily if the handler isn't being gentle."

Well, that was a rapid response.

Daisy felt her throat constrict in that nervous way it did when she felt she was doing something wrong and she immediately leapt to her own defense. "Dr. Brennan, I promise you I'm very good at being delicate ever since shattering that skull from the car art—"

"Yes, Daisy, you've shown marked improvement in delicacy that belies your outward tendencies toward the spastic, in matters both anthropological and otherwise," Dr. Brennan offered. Then she glanced down and clenched and opened one hand. "But I wasn't directing that comment at _your_ abilities."

Daisy deflated in relief for a moment before squinting at Brennan with a worried eye. "Dr. Brennan, you're shaking."

"Thus why I do not wish to touch the bones at the moment." She swallowed and glanced once more toward the sunset. There was the very distinct pop of cracking knuckles and then, in continued restlessness, Dr. Brennan pulled the elastic tie form her hair and let it fall forward. By now it was quite long and made an excellent curtain to hide behind… and that's exactly what Daisy _didn't_ want her to do._ Make her talk… grenade… you'll want it defused unless you want an eventual explosion._

"Okay, I know I'm not Angela or anything but I'm really a great listener if you need it, Dr. Brennan," Daisy said quickly as she sidled over to Brennan. She stood in such a way that the sunlight hit her back and cast an effective shadow over her professor, giving her no choice but to look up.

"Daisy, really, I'm fine." Curt, direct, and oh-so scary.

All of Daisy's past experiences with Dr. Brennan screamed "abort mission!" at the challenging glare but after much mental vacillating, Daisy held her ground. Her heart was galloping like a stampeding wildebeest, but still, she anchored her heels into the sand.

"Miss Wick." More curt, more direct, and ten-thousand times more scary. Ah, shit. Daisy thought Dr. Brennan had the prettiest eyes in the world, but the sunlight was offsetting the blues into Disney Villain greens and she might as well have had the gaze of Medusa, gauging by the level of fear it pierced into Daisy's adrenaline system. But if Dr. Brennan _could_ turn her into stone, at least it would keep her put. Don't run, Daisy, don't run, don't run!

"Dr. Brennan…" she attempted. So weak.

Although—was that a flicker of unrestrained sadness that just kicked the Medusa-look off of Dr. Brennan's face? Was that the sudden pull of the tides turning?

"Can you please—just keep working?"

And there it was; Dr. Brennan's voice cut out and the pitiful sound was the mythical crack in the Dr. Brennan Fortress—and Daisy felt so triumphant that she might as well had forgotten trying to find any specimens of species evolution, because nothing would top _this_ discovery. If she was going to tuck her tail between her legs and run away before, all thoughts of backing down were now annihilated. With all the verve of a puppy comforting her master, Daisy plopped down beside her professor, brown eyes brimming. With a little hesitation, she put a hand on Dr. Brennan's shoulder.

Dr. Brennan flinched as if she'd been smacked and turned to look at Daisy like she'd lost her mind.

"Yes, that's my hand on your shoulder, and no, I won't take it off," Daisy responded with the speed of a machine gun.

Her and Brennan were practically nose to nose and intimidating glare or not, Daisy had already spotted what looked like a little tear in the corner of her professor's eye. Façade shattered. _When it comes down to it, she's all bark anyway. _Once the Wizard of Oz stepped out from behind the green curtain, it was hard to ever be scared again.

"I'd really appreciate it if you would," Dr. Brennan said softly, but if Daisy didn't know any better, she'd say the doctor—if only by a fraction of a fraction of a fraction of inch—leaned into her comforting hand. It made the rapid quiver that ran through Dr. Brennan's body all the more perceptible. Daisy frowned.

"And I'd really appreciate it if you'd trust me as a confidant," Daisy responded, knowing the raw honesty could be risky but felt it a risk worth taking. "Or if not as a confidant, then at least someone you don't have to play pretend around."

"I don't know what you're—"

"No—no, don't do that. I wasn't sarcastic and I made no pop-culture references, so that means you're deflecting," Daisy said, shocked at her own forwardness. She leaned back a little and lightened her touch on Brennan's shoulder. "Sorry, but… Dr. Brennan, you know I think the world of you. And maybe before it was more of a mentor thing, but now—now I realize you're—you're just a really cool person."

_Just treat her like she's a person. Because she is, but you'd be surprised how few people keep her reminded of that fact._

"And you deserve an outlet if you need one, and considering I'm the closest thing you have to a friend out here…" Daisy let her voice trail, having no idea if her pep talk would even take.

Brennan leaned to the side and propped her head up on one hand, elbow on her knee. Daisy felt like she was being analyzed and perhaps she was. Analyzed for trustworthiness, maybe. She removed her hand from Brennan's shoulder and just let the other woman measure her up, fingers crossed, hoping she passed the test. In a few moments, it seemed she'd gotten an all-access pass to Brennanland when she heard one simple word, "okay," with the anticipatory quality of a drum roll.

Daisy swallowed, thinking Brennan would say more, but instead she just looked into the sunset once more. Maybe it was time to give this up. Maybe Dr. Brennan just wasn't ready to—

But then she started talking again.

"My very first anthropology lab instructor," Brennan began on a sigh, "made the class proficient at different breathing exercises before starting hands-on work with the actual skeletal remains—they were stilling techniques so the students didn't get shaky or heavy handed with the bones. Honestly, I was never very good at them. I was very clumsy with the bones as an undergrad. I believe it correlates with my level of emotionality, though I thought I'd conquered that in grad school. I'm sorry I'm leaving you on your own here, but I don't know what's… I don't know what's wrong." Daisy's eyes widened. Brennan's voice sounded so… so small. "This hasn't happened since—I don't… I apologize."

"Whoa, hey… no, not accepted. Because an apology isn't even necessary."

"But it's impeding on the efficiency of this close-out—"

"Dr. Brennan, we have like, six bones to store, two of which are probably not even human. Or even bone. Not even a big deal." Summoning her courage, and trying her best not to sound like Lance since Dr. Brennan had the tendency to correlate dread and Dr. Sweets-like questions, she smiled and said, "So what's making you emotional?"

Rather than close up, Brennan instantly responded to the question with another question. "What do you miss the most?"

Daisy wasted no time in answering. "Food. Artificially colored, high calorie food." As if to reinforce her point, Daisy's stomach growled loudly. It reminded her how long it had been since they'd eaten and the acknowledgment of her hunger suddenly made her weak… and shaky. And shaky.

Daisy suddenly had a light bulb moment. And she laughed as Brennan eyed her warily.

"Dr. Brennan," Daisy said whimsically, "you're sitting here trying to figure out what's wrong with you. You're being down on yourself, moping over the integrity of professionalism lost—"

"I suppose that's an accurate summation, although I wish you wouldn't wax poetic over something I find shameful, if you don't mind—"

"When is the last time you ate, Dr. Brennan?" Daisy asked, cutting her off with a look of triumph written all over her face. "I did minor in psychology, you know, but this is _biology_. No food means low blood sugar and that makes people shake. So does anger and sadness, but lucky for you, you don't have to trudge into the murky waters of emotions tonight—but you are going to have to eat my cooking, because we're going to go back to headquarters and I'm going to make you dinner."

And Daisy could've laughed at the sudden flush of embarrassment on those sun-freckled cheeks as Dr. Brennan rolled her eyes at herself. She thought she heard something about a "world of introspection" and "Booth's fault making her ignore the concrete" with all his "touch-feely, empirically-lacking system of emotional study," blah-de-blah—it didn't matter. Because it meant Daisy was right, and Daisy had saved Brennan from a night of stress with a little bit of logic, and she couldn't be happier.

Only… she couldn't take the _credit_ for the intuitive leap; she couldn't take any credit at all for the bond she was beginning to forge with her professor. She'd been very, very _coached_.

And after they'd finished dinner that night, the guilt she felt when Dr. Brennan bestowed on her that very credit pushed her into full-disclosure.

"Thank you, Daisy. For dinner. And for being a voice of reason."

The gratitude was passive but genuine as Dr. Brennan finished off her glass of water. She sighed as if gearing up for something intensely personal to herself; _I could start getting used to this honesty_, Daisy thought as she leaned forward, discarding her piece of fruit in interest of the next spill.

"It's come to my attention that I can be very irrational, for all my value of empirical thought." Brennan's voice fell quiet and she stared into the flickering flame that illuminated the table. For a second, she listlessly waved her fingers near the fire and they both watched it dance with the air. "People don't usually—other than Booth, I mean—they don't expect—they don't take the time to notice—let alone…"

Daisy, guilted by the "B" word and by Brennan's halting discomfort, ripped loose. "I didn't do it alone," she said, squeezing her eyes together as if expecting a blow.

"W-what?" Brennan sputtered, not at all following the shift in conversation. "Didn't do what alone?"

"Didn't figure you out alone."

"Like I'm nothing but a puzzle to solve?" Brennan responded, but she didn't sound offended—not really. Probably because she already knew exactly who Daisy's coach was and that made up for any other implications.

"N-no, of course not but—" Daisy glanced over her shoulder to the food preparation area and over to the screen door, next to which sat the bag she'd discarded when they walked in from the dig. She swallowed and leapt up from the wooden table and came back bearing an envelope, though she hid it behind her back. Dr. Brennan's eyes were incredibly suspicious.

"Okay, Dr. Brennan, I was sworn to secrecy about this so I cannot tell you, but if I accidentally leave something out in the open that isn't addressed to you—but perhaps is about you—do not feel bad snooping, okay? Deal? Awesome, goodnight!"

And the paper was flung on the table and before Dr. Brennan could even seem to register what was happening, Daisy's footsteps pattered away down the hall toward the dormitories… or so she made it sound. Truthfully, she'd pattered away and then snuck behind the doorjamb just as Dr. Brennan flipped open the letter. Daisy had to bite her lip to keep from giggling at the expression her professor wore when she felt she wasn't being watched. From Brennan's face alone, Daisy could guess what part of the letter she was reading.

_Hey, Miss Wick. Thanks for the letter; of course I'll help. I wrote the book on Bonesology! I didn't—crap, ignore that splotch there. (I almost started to write that I actually haven't written a book, but then I realized that even as squinty as you are, you'd probably understand my exaggerations.)_

_I know it's hard for you to believe, but Dr. Brennan is just as human as the skeleton dudes you guys dig up, and just as human as you. So first thing's first: the hero worship has gotta go. She slips up and is weak sometimes. Do not call her out on it if you want her even making eye contact with you for a week. If she's acting funny—twitchy or whiny or otherwise non-doctor-like—make her talk. She might as well be a grenade when that happens and you'll want it defused unless you want an eventual explosion. A surface burn is way better than smithereens. When it comes down to it, she's all bark anyway, unless you're a mobster or murderer or something. Which I'm assuming you're not, but what the hell do I know. If she acts clueless and it's not because you referenced Justin Timberlake or were way too sarcastic, then she's deflecting. Don't let her. And if she gets hard on you in that professorly way, just help her remember she was a student before too, okay? Maybe even get her to talk about it. _

_I know she's your teacher and all, but really, just treat her like she's a person. Because she is, but you'd be surprised how few people keep her reminded of that fact._

_- Booth_

_PS: For some reason, work trumps food when it comes to Bones and she may not admit it, but she turns into a seven year old when she doesn't eat. _

"Liar. I do not."

But there was a smile on Dr. Brennan's face that turned Daisy's smirk into a shit-eating grin.

Dear Agent Booth: Status update. Mission "Hunger" accomplished… in more ways than one.


	3. Running

**As I type, Bones would have been on if the season finale wasn't last week. Sad! Oh, well. Thank you all SO much for the reviews and alerts. Alternative perspectives are always risky to do, especially when a lot of people hate Daisy, but I'm glad you guys are on board and sincerely look forward to every review!  
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**As mentioned, this chapter is a little conflict-y, but not entirely. Future shots will not be so fluffy, if this can even be considered so. :)**

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**Daisy and Daffodil: Running**

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"So wha—you're saying—is the bone actually—didn't exist?"

Their bare feet pounded into the sand, three powdery thunks of Daisy's for every two of Brennan's. They'd left the housing compound in the darkest skies before dawn and had reached the ocean shore just as the island lightened with the unsaturated grays of coming morning. The sand was cool and soft and Daisy only wished that it could stay like that while they were at the dig site, but the sun here near the equator was brutal—once it had actually risen. Before sunrise, though, the air was refreshing enough that the humidity could be forgiven. It was, just as Dr. Brennan had said, perfect for a good run.

If you were a runner.

"The femoral neck had never formed," Brennan responded easily, and if it wasn't for the bounce in her voice from the force of her pounding feet, she sounded like she could have been sitting down—and Daisy felt totally shamed as she huffed and puffed. "She had a birth defect that she never knew about, though you'd think she'd question why she had a limp."

"—Yeah," was all Daisy could manage as she hiked her speed just a little to fall by Brennan's side once more. "Good for identification, though," she coughed out.

"Great for identification, since statistically—hey, are you alright?" Brennan asked, slowing her pace to a jog as she watched Daisy warily. Daisy felt her pride practically cry from the bruising resulting from Brennan's sympathetic frown.

"No, yeah! Fine! Great! Why'd you slow down?" she whined choppily.

"You're pushing yourself. I don't usually run with someone shorter than me and I didn't realize I'd been forcing you to overcompensate for your stature," Brennan explained and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. We can stop at that fishing dock up there. It would be ineffectual to have you in pain at the dig site today."

Daisy swallowed her slight embarrassment and despite her aching lungs she squeaked out, "Well, we gotta finish strong, Doc!" And she took off at a gallop; Dr. B actually laughed a little, and that was worth the burning in Daisy's lungs.

Once they reached the fishing dock, Brennan jogged the last few lengths and then, since the steps had clearly deteriorated and collapsed with age, hurdle jumped onto the old wood. Daisy figured Dr. B must do this regularly and it was easy for her, given her height and strength, to clear the three-foot leap… for Daisy's five-foot-four self, not so much. Luckily, Dr. Brennan knew this—of course Brennan knew this, it was basic kinesiology—and offered Daisy a hand up.

"Thanks," Daisy said as cheerfully as she could manage and immediately doubled over chin-to-chest, trying to heave as much oxygen as possible.

"Yeah," Brennan responded distractedly, not even looking her way as she began the walk down to the edge of the long dock. Once there, she stood straight, her arms behind her and her hands bracing her spine as she stared out into the slowly-brightening ocean, patiently waiting for Daisy to recover. The way she held her torso stretched her muscles in ways that made the biological anthropologist student in Daisy snap into observation mode; these morning runs and the digging and the general active lifestyle of this research trip was really beginning to show in Dr. Brennan lean musculature. Daisy couldn't help but smile; she was glad that Dr. Brennan had permitted her to tag along on this morning's short run, but even gladder to see the energy with which Brennan sprinted and the overall healthful glow she sported. It was reassuring because Daisy sometimes thought Dr. B might be a little sad, and the tossing and turning in the tent and in the dormitory on some nights often left her haggard and she had to admit, a little bitchy. But when she ran, it was like this elusive little free spirit came out to play.

"Dr. Brennan, wow, are you in shape or what?" Daisy said, breaking the silence that had settled after her breathing had slowed. "You must run often."

"The FBI has fitness standards. Quarterly testing," Brennan said vaguely, eyes still on the horizon. She leaned forward and braced herself on the edge of the dock to look down at the frothy waves.

"No way—they test you? Is it because you're in the field so much? What are you, like an honorary agent?"

Brennan had a sort of awkward smirk that was both sad and longing and amused all at once. "No, I don't—no. It was for Booth. I run with… I ran with Booth."

_Cute_, Daisy thought. It was a simple enough explanation. Explained the whole I-don't-usually-run-with-short-people comment. It was kind of sweet to imagine her and Booth racing in some park, actually, and it was certainly nothing unexpected or unusual or groundbreaking. But then something happened—a slip that Daisy would regret for a very, very long time.

"Well, that's kind of funny."

Brennan craned her neck around and slowly stood from her crouch. "Funny? In what way?"

Looking back, Daisy knew she could rationalize her ill-phrased response with something Lance had once told her about post-exercise endorphins. Apparently, the excess excretion of different hormones after strenuous exercise often tampers with the ability to think clearly and studies have shown that the brain's ability to censor is the first thing to go. Kind of like alcohol, except a safer inebriation. Lance said he knew of quite a few psychologists who kept treadmills in their therapy rooms and often practiced exercise honesty, as he liked to call it. It reportedly had very positive, therapeutic benefits.

But as it was, her runner's high set off her mouth's mouth and the uncensored words were anything—_anything_ but positive.

"Well, because now instead of running _with_ him, you're running _from_ him."

It was rapidly clear to Daisy that she had word-vomited and for a moment she had to stop to remember what she'd said, because Dr. Brennan looked like she'd been punched in the face. Her eyes were wide and empty and her jaw was slacked and pitiful. Yeah, well _that_ expression didn't last long; it would've been way better if that had been Dr. Brennan's prevailing reaction. Her actual prevailing reaction was something far, far worse. Those eyes went from empty to a raging storm on the drop of a dime.

"Leave, please," she growled in such an alto timbre that it literally shook Daisy. The pleasantry of 'please' was not so pleasant beyond the venom.

"Dr. Brennan, I am _so _sorry—"

Brennan spun on her heel so that she was toe to toe with Daisy and she towered over her, brows furrowed in a challenge. She was practically baring her teeth at Daisy, her slightly sharp canines looking like fangs in the dim dawn light as she spat, "Go back to headquarters and do _not_ apologize, Miss Wick."

…_Do not apologize? Does she—does she think I'm right?_

Even in her fearful retreat, Daisy dared to throw inquiries over her shoulder, each growing in volume as her distance from the dock increased. "You know I didn't mean it—you can't believe that I meant it—you don't believe it either right?" She was shouting now because the distance necessitated it, but Dr. Brennan wasn't looking at her. Once she was several yards away and she deemed herself at a safe length, she stopped.

"Dr. Brennan, _please_. It was verbal vomit, that's all, and I can't stand thinking you think I meant it!" she said, her voice getting scratchy from the shouting—and because she was starting to cry. But nothing would make Dr. Brennan look at her. She was now squatting at the end of the dock, arms wrapped around her knees and face impassive.

Still as a goddamn statue and more sealed away than ever.

Daisy just knew this would be the end of any bond they'd managed to form and as she watched her toes dig into the sand with every step, she couldn't help but mourn her own stupidity. She knew there was something irrevocable in hurting the woman she revered as her mentor. She _knew_ Booth was an unsafe topic; she _knew_ she should've tread a bit more carefully. And Dr. Brennan, so invincible, looked so pained—_and all because of me!_ The tears fell. She kicked a seashell and cursed as it cut her toe. Kneeling forward, she picked up the offending shell and tossed it as far as she could into the ocean, a curse on her lips. She glanced back at the dock one last time at the still silhouette of Dr. Brennan and then began to trudge away toward HQ, wondering now how anything could go right again.

Would Dr. Brennan stop talking to her completely? They probably wouldn't have dig rotations together any longer, since she scheduled them. Often, they ate together—always, they catalogued and did write-ups together. Dr. Brennan was still her professor and Daisy still had credit hours to fulfill for her internship, but she could pull strings and get one of the other anthropologists to act as an adjunct on her behalf or something. Oh, God, what if she even removed her name from the articles they'd written? No, she wouldn't do that, because that would be admitting that emotions could sway her professional duties—

"Daisy…"

"Oh, Christ," Daisy gasped, practically tripping on her own feet at Dr. Brennan's voice directly behind her. Somehow, perhaps while Daisy had been wallowing in her sudden depression, the doctor had snuck up on her.

Brennan ignored the interjection entirely. "I am a scientist," she said forcefully and swallowed hard after her declaration. "I am an anthropologist. That is why I'm here."

"I-I know, I didn't mean it—"

"That's why I'm here," she repeated over Daisy's quiet stuttering.

The silence was nothing short of strained as the women watched each other carefully. Daisy, not willing to speak and subsequently cause another huge disaster, stood completely still and trained her eyes on Brennan's with the most contrite expression she could manage. When the silence dragged on, though, Daisy remembered that it was Dr. Brennan she was dealing with—who tended to follow the conversational leads of others whenever she could help it.

"I'm really sorry, Dr. Brennan," Daisy risked and Dr. Brennan's stance instantly relaxed.

"I know you are. I just—I wanted to clarify that in terms of this dig, my motivations are strictly professional." Her words were clinical, her tone was, well, _mostly_ clinical, but the tense expression she wore was not clinical at all. "As you are still my intern, I wanted to be sure the right example of professional priority is being set."

"Aren't we past that?" Daisy let slip and she almost launched herself at Brennan's toes to apologize, until she realized that Brennan had not taken offense; in fact, if Daisy was perfectly honest, she'd say Brennan looked relieved at the informal turn in their conversation. "Even if what I said was true," Daisy continued with a little more confidence, "which it's not, I certainly wouldn't hold it against you or your professional concerns. And Dr. Brennan, I know that you're not running from Booth."

What Daisy could only label _guilt_ colored Brennan's eyes.

"No," Brennan started carefully, looking away as she composed herself. "No, Daisy, you _don't_ know that. You know don't know anything about it. Nobody does. Looking at what little evidence you're privy to, it could be interpreted that I'm running, that he's running. That we're just trying to—to escape. But it's not like that—Booth and I, we're professionals and we were called upon. We responded to a duty call. That's all."

"I believe you, Dr. Brennan. It wasn't my place." Seeing that Brennan was getting flustered and was showing sure signs of trying to hold back tears—a feeling Daisy knew to be very unpleasant—Daisy began to backpedal. "Please, don't feel pressured to explain anything."

"Well, ignoring it and not vocalizing my feelings has caused nothing but pain in the past, so I'm trying."

Daisy swallowed hard. Dr. Brennan _wanted_ to open up? Voluntarily? Even after being offered multiple means of escape? With nothing short of wonder in her voice, Daisy asked, "Are you saying you're going to let me be your confidant?"

Brennan didn't offer a direct response to that question, but when she continued sharing her secrets, Daisy knew the answer was "yes."

"The truth is that I _am_ running. I am running though I believe it's in a different direction than is usually implied by the verb in the context of—of relationships. I am running to catch _up_ with him, not to get away from him, though I am scared I am too far behind."

"Oh, Dr. Brennan." Daisy felt her gut twist in empathy at the lost, little kid look on Brennan's face. The words were bubbling out of her like they had been this enormous pressure for way too long. And based on Brennan's past behavior compared to the current no-bars-held expose of psyche, they had been.

"I'm running as fast as I can but he's a… a star athlete, so he's been waiting at the—at the finish line for a long time now. He can't just—sit on the sidelines waiting for me. He can never just sit still and I—I don't _want_ him to." The non-scientific comparative explanation sounded foreign from Brennan's mouth, but it also seemed like there was no more accurate of a description. "I wish there was a more concise way to say this; I very much dislike convoluted metaphor, especially ones that are sport-related, but part of my 'catching up' involves a little bit of mental evolution, so…"

"I'm sure Agent Booth would be proud of that."

It was a sad smile, but at least it was a smile. But it quickly turned into an angry, exasperated sigh. Brennan swiped at the bottom of her eyes as tears betrayed her composure. "And this is why I run all the time. I mean actually, physically run. I run to think about"—she waved her one hand vaguely toward the horizon, the other still fighting the waterworks—"this. I am finding, though, that it is detrimental. I am trying to figure out how to open up to him and I am doing so through introspection. Alone. What I should be doing is putting my underdeveloped extroverted tendencies into practice. I suppose that is why, for some irrational reason, I've wanted to tell you about all of this. You are a very open person. Sometimes too open, but I'm not picky when there are things to be learned."

Daisy's throat caught. "Learn? Learn from _me_?"

"Yes. I am finding that this trip is becoming rather educationally symbiotic for us." Something incredibly soft came over Brennan's face. It made Daisy's pulse freeze, for she knew something very un-Brennan-like was about to be revealed. "Daisy, for reasons I cannot rationalize, I find myself identifying with you—or rather, there are parts of me I thought were—I thought were long gone, but being around—I don't know. I'm not very good at this."

Well, _this_ was certainly a one-eighty from Daisy's oh-so-recent breakdown regarding her relationship with her mentor. She watched on, marveling.

"So," Brennan continued, sounding slightly doubtful under Daisy's huge-eyed gaze, "if you're capable of still maintaining the necessary respect and boundaries in terms of your position as my intern and student, I'd very much… I'd very much like to—"

"Be friends?" Daisy posed calmly. She gave herself huge props for not saying it on a squeal. In fact, she was rather measured and frank and did well in matching Brennan's pragmatic cadence.

"Be…" Brennan was clearly searching for some less cuddly word, but when she couldn't find one, she visibly relented. "Be friends."

Daisy's response was a gentle, genuine smile. A nod, too, but nothing more.

After a stunned second, Brennan gave her own little crooked grin. "I am both surprised and impressed by your equanimity, Daisy. It's typically in your nature to relate to positive events with excessive exuberance."

"Well, hey, if we're going to be friends, it's all I can do to refrain from things that annoy you, right, Brennan?" Unsure of the lack of the obligatory title, she added in a little voice, "Heh, um, is that okay? Without the doc? I mean, obviously when we're on site I won't—"

"It's fine," Brennan said, cutting her off. "We do have to start heading back now, though. Start sifting yesterday's finds before the sun gets too high."

"Absolutely," Daisy agreed. But even though it was nearing work time, Daisy sensed something totally different about Brennan's disposition. She just needed someone to talk to and Daisy was more than willing to be that person. She would make herself available to be that person. Because certainly, she could learn just as much from Brennan as Brennan could from her. So she'd be that confidant. She'd be that friend. For Brennan, for herself, and for Booth.

Also, she decided it wouldn't be such a bad thing if her thighs jiggled just a little less, so…

"Hey, Do—Brennan?"

"Yeah?"

"Think maybe I could start tagging along with you when you run? And I mean both ways. The physical running and the catching-up-to-Booth running. I figure you can help me with one, and I can help you with the other. If you'll let me, of course."

She waited for the response with baited breath, a little wary of how her frankness regarding Booth would be received. She was relieved at the response.

"I would really…" Brennan said, almost so quietly that Daisy had to strain to hear, "really like that, Daisy."

And knowing that her words would have all the meaning in the world to Brennan, Daisy dropped her volume to match.

"I'll help you keep running in the right direction. I promise."


End file.
